


The Educational Tour: Brooklyn

by TheRothwoman



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRothwoman/pseuds/TheRothwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie and Jeeves spend an afternoon at Coney Island. My contribution to the now-defunt Jeeves and Wooster Educational World Tour. Also the sequel to Jeeves and the Bed for Two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Educational Tour: Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first part of a challenge that the good folks on LiveJournal took on back in 2009 called the Jeeves and Wooster Educational World Tour, where we all wrote a chapter taking place in our hometowns. Unfortunately I don't think it got further than Alaska, but I thought my entry worked just fine as a standalone, so I thought I'd post it here. Enjoy!

I don’t really understand why the world feels the need to have two Brightons. Not that it’s a _bad_ thing for the world to have two Brightons. Good heavens, that would be dashed unpleasant news for the day-trippers. No more Brightons, I mean. After all, sunny beaches, calm seas, good old fashioned long walks along the aforementioned s. b. Quite a topping trip. It’s just that it gets rather confusing after a while. Say you’re walking down the street on some fine day and a chap nearby happens to mention that Brighton’s a dashed lovely place, so you say “What ho!” and inquire as to whether the man is referring to the Brighton in Sussex, England, or the Brighton known to the locals as Coney Island in Brooklyn, New York. Then the man calls you an ass for not knowing and stomps away, huffing about how they don’t teach schoolboys geography anymore. Not that I speak of that convo. from experience, thank heavens.

Oh, I’m so sorry! You’ve probably gone off wondering what in the blazes has gotten Wooster, Bertram W. rambling on about Brightons out of bally nowhere. Well, sit down for a mo’ and I shall spin you a story, what?

Converging…or is it diverging?...ever so slightly from B.s and C.I.s, my man Jeeves is a marvel. Just but a few weeks ago, I was at home in my comfortable flat in the old metrop, never tossing the Wooster onion in the direction of giving up the steady life temporarily and hauling the W.o. and the whole rest of the Wooster corpus on a long journey ‘round the globe in all its vastness, but then Jeeves came and did the o. tossing for me. I just don’t know how he does it. I bally well don’t. I think it had something to do with the proposal of it being…oh, how did he put it? “A leave of absence from the endless flood of aunts and unsuitable females most often brought in their wake, so as to facilitate some mental and emotional recovery for you, sir. This trip would also bring the considerable added benefit of being a quite educational excursion, if I may say so, sir.”

Well, I needn’t tell you which of the aforementioned arguments caught the Wooster fish on the line and snagged it tight. As it so happens, the latter a. began not long after embarking the ship over from England to New York. Jeeves and I happened to share a bed that first night and, well, I say, quite a life changing experience, what? Not every day you get to discover for the first time just how human and compassionate your valet can be when you start having nightmares at his side. I’d almost forgotten what a good comforting hug feels like. Gosh knows I’ve gone so long without one…

“We are coming within sight of our destination, sir.”

“Ah, right-ho!”

Oh, dash it, that’s right! Sorry, I got so sidetracked with Jeeves I completely forgot about the whole Brighton affair. New York was the first stop on our grand voyage, a perfect opportunity to tread through familiar foreign territory before shoving off. I’d decided that since we spent most of our time in the state alternating between the bustle of Midtown and the wilds of Long Island, it was high time to reach a compromise betwixt the two and leg it for the outer boroughs for a spell. In short, Jeeves and I were going to spend the day in Brooklyn, frolicking through Coney Island and Brighton Beach. Actually, I’m not sure Jeeves is really a chap for “frolicking” per se, but there you are. Normally in these circs, we would take a car or a cab out, but when I heard that the subways provided a more scenic route, the “elevated train” as Jeeves informs me, through the m. s. parts of the borough, I figured “Right-ho, then!”

“I say, Jeeves,” I say-d “It was awful nice of these subway chappies to take the trains out for a bit of air once in a while instead of keeping them stuffed in the tunnels all day. And through such charming country! I’d no idea you could see so much…well… _green_ around you and still be within the limits of New York City.”

“Well, sir, the main purpose of the subways is to facilitate a more modern and efficient form of rapid transit that does not clog the streets or make a horrible racket to the local residents or the pedestrians on the street, such as the one made by the elevated trains you speak so highly of.”

“You mean you don’t like the view, Jeeves?”

“Oh, on the contrary, sir, I am greatly admiring the Brooklyn landscape and am taking a considerable pleasure at the opportunity to see it from above at such an angle. I was merely remarking on the technicalities of the city’s mass transit system.”

“Ah. Well, we’ve seen the technicalities up close now, so how about we prepare to step offboard the train and see the B. l. a bit more intimately, what?”

“That is indeed the purpose of this outing, sir.”

It was about luncheon-time upon our arrival and I was feeling a bit peckish, so I put forth the idea to Jeeves that we might grab something hearty to nibble on. He very-good-sir’d me and started prattling off a list a local refreshment vendors and their wares. I was in the mood for something distinctly American, something that embodied and symbolized the old red-white-and-blue. So, naturally, frankfurters were right in.

“Nathan’s Famous, in operation since 1916, would probably be the best mode of facilitating that hunger, sir,” said Jeeves, all-knowingly. “It is located at the intersection of Stillwell and Surf Avenues. And I believe, sir, that the locals refer to such a delectable as a ‘hot dog’.”

Jeeves knows everything.

\---------------

“Ah, now that’s the stuff right there, Jeeves!” I said as I contentedly consumed my log of good American meat. There had been a spat of excitement at the stand while we waited in line; one of the cooks had accidentally placed a paper bag too close to an open flame and it had caught alight quite like…well…quite like a p. b. too close to an o. f. The girl had to seize the thing, fling it to the ground, and stamp the bally thing out. There was more than a little applause from the waiting crowd.

“Indeed, sir.” Jeeves seemed to be only half-enjoying his. Too much mustard, what?

“Jolly good invention, buns. Removes the need for knives, forks, and plates altogether! All one needs is a fully functional set of digits and _good lord!_ ” In my somewhat animated speech, I had failed to notice at exactly which angle I was holding my “hot dog” and a great glob of ketchup had just relieved itself of its proper duties as a condiment and had made its residence most unwanted atop my left shoe.

“It apparently does not remove the need for napkins or handkerchiefs, sir.” Jeeves swiftly moved to correct the red blemish. Our stomachs sated, it was time to move on to other activities. I was quite eager at some point in the day to get acquainted with the water that lay, as all water should, at the edge of the beach. Jeeves, being the wise voice of reason that he is, advised me to wait at least an hour before swimming. Well, all right, then. Granted, it gave us jolly ample time to stroll the boardwalk and drink in the view.

“I say, Jeeves,” I pointed to a fairly large landmass off in the distance “What’s that over there?”

“That would be Staten Island, sir. The third largest borough in New York City by landmass, encompassing one hundred and two-and-a-half square miles and accessed by the Staten Island Ferry. A most scenic ride, I am informed.”

“Ah. We should hit that place sometime during our stay, Jeeves, if the ferry ride is any bit as scenic as the one coming down here.”

“Very good, sir.”

Our hour up, I legged it for the sand. Jeeves followed, carrying our basket full of beach blankets, bathing costumes, and that dashed handy collapsible beach umbrella. While Jeeves set up the b. b. and b. u., I collected my bathing costume and strode off to the changing rooms. Not quite sure if he did or not, but I almost swore I saw Jeeves give a momentary cautious glance over at the water-garment I had extracted before I turned and effectively hid it from his view. Emerging from the depths of raucous muscle-bound men in trunks and small boys demanding ice cream later, I returned to Jeeves at our beach-site where he had finished setting up camp and was fumbling through the basket for his improving book. He turned up to face me and I spread my arms so as to better display my…acrylic?...aquarium?...aquatic attire.

The expression on Jeeves’s face was dashed difficult to choose a description for. I was quite teetering between saying he looked as if he’d seen a ghost or that he looked as if he’d been struck by a bally locomotive. Instead of letting the two statements battle it out for supremacy in the Wooster bean, I settled for a compromise: Jeeves looked as if he’d been struck by a bally locomotive full of ghosts.

“B…bright…turquoise…sir?”

“Yes, Jeeves. Bright turquoise. The lady at the shop said it brought out my eyes.”

Jeeves was silent, and not in his respectful I-am-simply-a-domestic-servant-in-the-background-Don’t-mind-me way, either. It was his You-have-commited-a-horrific-crime-against-fashion-sir-and-I-am-still-attempting-to-gather-the-words-with-which-to-tell-you-so way. Well, I was jolly well having none of _that_ this trip!

“Oh, out with it, Jeeves!” I huffed. “We’re matey-er now after that talk on the boat; you can tell me what’s wrong with it!” Jeeves continued to stare at my swimsuit in an almost wounded-puppy sort of a way and, for the first time I’ve ever seen, bit his lip.

“…I think I’m going to cry, sir.”

Well now, _there’s_ a bit of progress.

“Oh, tut. Come now, Jeeves, you’re stronger than that.” I patted the man on the back and heaved a confident sigh. “Sure you don’t want to want to change? It’s bally hot out and you must be like a boiled potato in that uniform.” Jeeves shook his head, respectfully.

“No, thank you, sir. I think I would be better stationed here guarding our possessions.” Jeeves seemed to be shrinking back from me ever so slightly. My bathing costume wasn’t _that_ bad, what? Oh well, stiff upper lip and all that. Desperate as I was to get into the sweet chill of the seawater and guard the Wooster corpus from the angry glare of the New York summer sun, I took my leave of my man and strode briskly into the blue abyss. Now, I’m not much of a swimmer. Got enough in me to rescue the younger brothers of possible but undesired fiancées, but not quite enough to send me far from the shoreline. I dove around a bit, splashing merrily and returning on occasion to my early stripling days, fooling about in the pond, or to my other stripling years, fooling about drunk in the fountain. Dashed soothing feeling, being in water. Probably better in the bathtub than in the ocean but, I say, water is water. Still, a rapidly caramelizing part of the Wooster onion was wishing I had Jeeves here with me. Can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something dashed _lonely_ about being out in such a vastness with no one at your side. I mean, the beach-side sea was littered with all manner of not-no-ones, but none of them was anyone I knew.

All of a sudden, I don’t know if you know the feeling, but it felt as though some great invisible hand had painfully seized my leg. At first, I feared for my life that this sea monster would drag me down into the depths and devour me for an afternoon meal, but then I realized that there was no sensation implying actual contact on my skin from a second party. Dashed mystifying, it was. Still, no reason not to let out a good cry of panic. I tried to grab at my leg to see what the dickens was wrong with it, but then I started to sink. I’d forgotten that one traditionally needs his arms to be in motion to stay afloat in the water.

“HELP!” I yelled, deeming it as good a time as any to call in the cavalry “JEEVES! HELP! I’M DROWNING!”

“I believe you are in an area where you can stand, sir.”

I say, talk about quick response! I hadn’t even seen Jeeves leave to get into his bathing costume and yet here he was, standing, as he said, at my thrashing side, largely disrobed except for the water-tight skin of black that covered his torso.

“I’m going under, Jeeves! DO SOMETHING!”

Jeeves shot me a concerned look.

“If you will just follow me out of the water, sir…”

The last thing I saw before the unforgiving sea swallowed me up was Jeeves, my dearest man, holding out his hand to me.

\-----------------

Not sure how much later I awoke, dry and shaded, but most pleasantly not-dead. Still feeling that I carried a great deal of the Lower New York Bay inside the old lemon, I judged it best not to move it too much. Besides, it was lying on something quite soft and warm and comfortable. And breathing…

…by Jove, it was Jeeves. I blinked widely.

“I am very glad to see that you are awake again. How are you feeling, sir?”

I thought about that for a mo’, stopping to take in my position first. The old lemon, as previously stated, was resting in Jeeves’s lap. Or was it nearer to his chest? I couldn’t tell from that angle. We were still on the beach at Coney Island, positioned in the shade under our beach umbrella and sprawled out on our blankets. The sun was a lot lower in the heavens now and the beach was becoming increasingly deserted as folks moved on to dry off and head out to other nearby attractions of the approaching evening. Jeeves had one of his great philosophers in his hand, which he had obviously had that curiously crooked nose in while waiting for me to re-emerge from the dreamless.

“Alive, thank you, Jeeves. For saving my life, I mean. But…dash it, shouldn’t you have taken me to a hospital or something?” Jeeves gave me one of his knowing glances. 

“I ascertained from the situation that you had simply developed a cramp in your right leg, sir, and were so panicked by the sensation occurring while you were in a vast body of water that you fainted soon after I came to your side. I carried you back to the shore, confirmed that your breathing and pulse were normal and that you had not inhaled seawater. I then knew that you were in no need of serious medical attention, sir, and simply had to wait until you regained consciousness.” I gaped at the man in shock.

“I could have bally well _drowned_ , Jeeves! I could have _died!_ ”

“ _Bertie_.”

My speech was stopped dead in its tracks. I had often wondered since that day on the ship whether or not Jeeves was still undecided as to whether to ever call me by my often-given name. Something in the Wooster heart spoke prophecies that it would happen in due time, but this was the first occ. in which he had actually spoken it. My gaze locked with his, he continued:

“I can assure you with the greatest trust and confidence that if I had _any_ reason to believe that your life was in danger, I would have sought you medical aid _immediately_. I believe it is commonplace for a man in danger of drowning to experience submerging of the head, an activity I am most delighted to say was not included in your fainting spell, though it may have been had I not been there.”

Softened. That’s what happened. I was softened. Softened, and ashamed. How could I have ever accused Jeeves like that? I trust him with my life and I accuse him of leaving me to die off foreign shores? I said nothing, hoping that the red in my face would do the talking for me. It was at this juncture that I suddenly became aware of the location of Jeeves’s other arm. This whole time, it had been curled protectively around the Wooster corpus, not unlike how it must have done that night when Jeeves had cradled me against the onslaught of my nightmares. I nuzzled in closer to him, gripping an arm around his midriff. Dash it, I never wanted him to leave my side, and I never wanted to leave his side. My man, my protector, my friend, _my Jeeves_.

“I’m sorry, Jeeves,” I finally mustered. “Near-death experience or not-so-near-death experience, I have an unnerving feeling that this ‘trauma’ fellow might be settling in again.” I started to feel to the cold grip of the sea around me again, sending a violent shiver up my spine. Jeeves responded with a comforting squeeze on my shoulder, followed by a spot of gentle stroking of my arm.

“If he does, sir, then I will consider it my greatest duty to stave him off. It pains me greatly to see you plagued by nonmaterial things, sir.”

I knew that fewer people populating the beach meant more privacy for us, so there was much less worry in our odd intimacy raising eyebrows. I felt safer in Jeeves’s arms than anywhere else those days, and I daresay I needed both of them at the mo’.

“…Hold me, Jeeves?”

He gazed down at me tenderly, letting just the slightest dash of irritation flicker by his eyes at having to embrace a body clothed in disapproved bright turquoise before he sent it on its jolly way. Placing his improving book down, he wrapped his now free arm around me, running his fingers through my sea-tangled hair in a soothing motion. It amazed me how he could simultaneously fulfill his mission as a friend to me by bringing me peace and also fulfill one of his grooming duties as my valet. I let him have his way with the Wooster mane for a good while longer. When he stopped, he suggested that we start packing up tent and move along. Dash it, I didn’t want to move from this spot. The good Brooklyn air seemed to agree with Jeeves, however, as it began to pick up every so slightly. With reluctance at having to leave this jolly relaxing and secure position, Jeeves and I packed up all our things, changed back into our dry clothes, said “Tinkerty tonk!” to the beach and “What ho!” to the boardwalk once more.

“Jeeves,” I quipped “You see that great big round thingummy over there?”

 “One could scarcely miss it, sir. I can only assume that the Ferris wheel in question is the Wonder Wheel…”

I could tell Jeeves was reverting quickly to his human encyclopedia persona.

 “…standing at one hundred and fifty feet tall…”

 Right-ho.

 “…it would prove an excellent venue from which to watch the sun set, if we hurry.”

I say!

“Well then, what the dickens are we waiting for, Jeeves?” Not paying much attention to what the Wooster digits were doing, I seized Jeeves by the wrist and legged it for this Wonder Wheel thingummy. Line getting longer, what? I fidgeted ever so slightly during our wait. I could care less about Ferris wheels, but what better way to complete a wonderful day of being alive and not being dead than with a sunset at whatever-dashed-height-Jeeves-said-it-was? What if we didn’t get up there in time? After I’d been fidgeting some more, Jeeves suddenly put his hand up on my shoulder again. All at once, the old lemon was back in his lap at the beach, being told ever so subtly that everything would be absolutely corking. I sighed out my anxiousness and suddenly found myself and Jeeves next in line to get into one of those little gondolas. Hopping in and seating myself eagerly, we waited for the dashed thing to move.

I hadn’t really noticed just how bally slow these things go. Made the Wooster heart go all a-flutter all over again. I drummed impatiently at the seat, unconsciously tapping out the rhythm for “Puttin’ on the Ritz” for some reason. My eyes darted all over the place, unfortunately landing on the great expanse of the sea which I had thought for sure was going to claim me a few short hours ago. I was never looking at American waterfronts the same way again. Jeeves shot me another look and, taking in the feverish glow on the Wooster dial, reached over and took my hand in his. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he spoke.

“Patience, Bertram.”

The time it took for me to slowly rotate my head in his direction to look at his face was probably several times as long as it took for him to put a smile upon it.

“I think you will find, sir, that looking in the general direction of the sunset which you so desired to see will take your mind off your earlier ordeal at the beach.”

Well.

I _say_.

Jeeves was right. About the earlier unspoken remark regarding everything being absolutely topping. My supposed near-death experience was driven from my mind like a lead horse from the starting gate at Goodwood. My fears at missing the sunset were also sufficiently abated, as I could see that the great red thing still had a good half-an-hour to go before it disappeared under nighttime’s blanket for the day. My eyes hurt like the dickens, though, and I saw what Jeeves meant about looking “in its general direction.” It felt so bally _right_ , here.

Heavens bless Brooklyn.

“What would I do without you, Jeeves?” I proclaimed as I threw myself into my friend’s welcoming and sturdy embrace once more. We recomposed ourselves as our Wonder gondola reached the ground again and the door opened for us to disembark, letting the next set of chappies or ladies or kids onboard. We hopped out, or I should say, I _skipped_ out, and trotted off in no direction in particular down the boardwalk.

“Would you care to see any more of the Coney Island sights this evening, sir?” Jeeves inquired. I looked around the stretch in front of me. Lights were going up all over the place, seemingly every color everywhere had come to converge here on this one length of American beach. I say, after everything today, it made me feel quite the delirium.

“Erm, I think not, Jeeves. I’d say it’s time we returned to the N.Y. metrop and had a nice quiet dinner in the flat. Enough excitement for one day, what?”

“Very good, sir.” And I could hear in his voice that he meant it.

\-------------- 

Must’ve fallen asleep on the subway, because Jeeves was gently prodding me awake. I say, the Wooster onion has become quite magnetically attracted to the Jeeves corpus as of late. The fact that I roused from the pre-eight-hours with the W. o. resting comfortably on Jeeves’s shoulder was as good an implication as any.

“Pardon me for waking you, sir, but I thought that you might like to see the moon from here.”

We were chugging over the Manhattan Bridge at the mo’. In our immediate front, I could spy the majestic figure of the Brooklyn Bridge staring boldly into the night. Or was it at me? There indeed was the moon in question, casting wavy streaks of silver on the East River below. Dashed pretty thing, the moon. Usually you have the hardest time spotting the bally thing in the city, what with all the lights and buildings and metrop getting in the way and all. Here, now, almost as clear as day. I’d wondered for a time whether I’d get to catch a glimpse of this fair-but-rare New York moon. Its unusual sight in this neck of the woods seemed to be a dashed comforting glimpse of the coming unusual to befall myself and Jeeves on this long grand tour of ours. I smiled contentedly and shifted myself a little to better speak directly to my dear man.

“I say, Jeeves, you don’t mind the young master Bertram leaving the old bean on your shoulder for a bit longer?”

“Not at all, sir.”


End file.
